


Cheating the System

by CrayonWrites



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, i'm tagging mama because she will appear at some point, teen and up because language lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-11 13:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayonWrites/pseuds/CrayonWrites
Summary: Duck has a vision. Indrid sees a path. The forest goes quiet.





	1. Chapter 1

Duck Newton had felt it coming. Something about the calm before the storm. A dream. A vision of the future. In his mind he prays it’s good news.   
  
There’s a figure. Large whooshing sounds in his ears. Cold hands. Red glasses. Bright light.   
  
He wakes up.   
  


* * *

  
Indrid Cold had felt it coming. Something about the way his vision fades and all he can see is dark. A possibility. A vision of a future. In his mind he prays no one is endangered.   
  
There’s a smile. Nervous laughter in his ears. Warm hands. A patch with a pine tree. Bright light.   
  
His surroundings return.   
  


* * *

  
  
Duck Newton has had quite enough of these visions. So frequently they plague him and so too, frequently, does he have so little answers to what he’s been shown.   
  
Duck ponders the meaning of this latest vision as he sits down at the table with a cup of fresh made coffee to start off his day. His thumb rubs the Pine Guard patch on the inside of his jacket absentmindedly, a nervous habit Aubrey had pointed out to him.   
  
The sound had been like heavy wind. Pushing and pulling. Like waves in the sky. Vague as always.   
  
The cold hands he felt could be anyone. They’d been holding on as if the person they belonged to was hugging him. Duck doesn’t know anyone’s hands well enough. His sister’s aren’t cold. Aubrey’s are almost always on fire. He doesn’t ever want to touch Ned’s hands.   
  
Red glasses. The only thing he has a clue about. They were Mr. Cold’s glasses, no doubt about it. Large and round and reflective, ruby red and solid in color.   
  
And that’s when it hits Duck. Maybe Indrid would have answers. Maybe he would go visit with some questions after his day of work.   
  


* * *

  
  
Indrid began to sketch right away. The Pine Guard patch — he had recognized it. Duck Newton’s face, smiling but clearly wracked with nerves — he had recognized that, too. Indrid’s pencil flew across the page. He hadn’t seen the warm hands, he’d only felt them, holding tight, connected to arms that seemed to be hugging him. He wasn’t sure who they belonged to. He’d seen something dark flash in the corners of his vision, too fast for him to get an idea of what it was.   
  
When he had met the trio of humans, his visions began to become more centered upon them. And then, even, more centered around Duck. At first he had been wary, but he soon realized there was something Duck was hiding away. A destiny. Something big.   
  
But he need not bother Duck. He could feel the tides of fate. Duck would visit him that night. Yes, that seemed an appropriate time to discuss a few matters.   
  


* * *

  
Part of Duck wanted to delay the meeting.   
Maybe wait a day or two. It could wait, right? Just go home, mull over it on his own, try to figure it out as he usually did without anyone’s help.   
  
That wouldn’t get him anywhere, would it? No, the answer, Duck knew, lie with Indrid. A seer could certainly help the “Chosen One”, he thinks. If Mr. Cold couldn’t, Duck wasn’t sure anyone could.   
  
And so, despite his many reservations and his nerves, Duck makes his way out of the trees and into the clearing containing Indrid Cold’s Winnebago. He is five feet away from it when the trailer door swings open, Indrid’s lanky silhouette standing in the doorway. Heat and light radiates from within and Duck can see a wide grin on Indrid’s face.    
  
“Duck Newton!” He exclaims in his usual, enthusiastic tone. “What a surprise.”   
  
Duck can’t help but laugh a little. “I’m guessin’ that ain’t true, is it?”   
  
Duck isn’t quite sure, his view of Indrid is quite dark, due to the lighting from within the Winnebago — but he thinks he sees the man’s smile soften a bit.   
  
“No, it is no surprise to me. Why don’t you come in, hm? I think you have questions.”   
  
Indrid waves his hand toward the interior of his home as he steps back from the doorway, allowing Duck to walk through.   
  
It is hot as all hell. This is no surprise to Duck. It was last time, and he assumes it will be until the end of time.   
  
But otherwise, things are a bit different. About half of the old eggnog cups have been picked up and either cleaned or thrown away. The crumpled papers that litter the floor have all been swept to one corner of the Winnebago.   
  
It is an improvement.   
  
Indrid takes a seat at his table, picking up a sketch pad and a charcoal pencil, going to work almost immediately.   
  
“What uh... what’re ya drawin’ there?”   
  
Without looking away from his work, Indrid gestures up behind him to the wall of drawings.   
  
“Futures,” he explains.   
  
Duck nods. He fiddles with his hat in his hand. Puts it back on his head. Takes it off again. Puts it on the coffee table. Starts fidgeting again with the patch sewn into his jacket lining.   
  
Indrid pauses his sketch. Looks up at Duck. Duck states at his reflective, red lenses. Indrid looks back down again, adds a couple more details to his sketch, and then flips the pad closed and sets it and the pencil down on the table.   
  
“So?”   
  
Duck’s a bit startled. “So what?”   
  
“You have questions for me, no? Is that not why you’re here?”   
  
Duck scratches his head. “Uh. Yeah. So I’ve got. Uh- coincidental- uh- nothing real or- fuck- but, it’s not great, and- sometimes it is- they’re like, I see stuff? No I- I just have- no they’re dreams and- _fuck_. Nothin’ uh- nothin’ important, or- or like, cosmic, or-“   
  
Indrid raises an eyebrow, his grin returning.   
  
“Visions.” Duck says at last.    
  
“Visions.” Indrid says, at the exact same moment.   
  
Duck laughs and snaps. “Yeah! Visions. But I get ‘em in- in _dreams_ , is the thing.”   
  
Indrid ponders for a moment, his near permanent grin still spread across his face. “Duck, do you know anything about your destiny?”   
  
Duck feels a chill go down his spine. Destiny. Minerva pesters him constantly about his destiny.   
  
“No.” Duck says softly. “All I know is that I got one.”   
  
Indrid stands. “And that’s why you came to me.”   
  
“Well I figured- ah hell, I figured you might know somethin’ but- it was a long shot, I kno-“   
  
“No.” Indrid puts up his hand. “You had a good idea. Duck, what do you know about your destiny?”   
  
“I’m... I’ve been called ‘the chosen one’.”   
  
Indrid nods. “I thought as much.”   
  
“You weren’t sure?”   
  
“Again, Duck, not a mind reader.”   
  
Indrid laughs.   
  
“A seer an’ a chosen one.” Duck says with a smile. “Sounds like somethin’ the universe wouldn’t be too happy about. We’re cheatin’ the system.”   
  
Indrid crosses his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits. “I apologize for laughing prematurely.” He says, enthusiastic and smiling as wide as ever.   
  
It’s Duck’s turn to laugh. “I wondered why you were laughin’.”   
  
“Can I get you something to drink?” Indrid asks, cocking his head. “I have clean cups. My eggnog isn’t expired.”   
  
Duck laughs. “Aw hell, why not. It can’t hurt to have a glass.”   
  
“It can’t hurt to have a glass.”   
  
Duck finds himself laughing harder. “Ya gotta stop that!”   
  
Indrid laughs and smiles wider when he goes to get the drinks, but his mind is whirring with the vision he had earlier. His visions became clearer over time, and now he is quite embarrassed having Duck here, in his home, sitting on his couch and waiting for a drink and a talk.   
  
“Tell me about this vision of yours.” Indrid says as he pours a glass.   
  
Duck perks up. “All my visions are a real pain in the ass. Vague in every way. I heard like- I dunno, this whoosh noise? Like waves but in the air. Back and forth.”   
  
Indrid hums as he hands Duck’s glass to him. “What else did you see, feel, smell, perhaps?”   
  
Duck thinks. “I felt real cold hands.” He laughs as he takes the cup. “Almost as cold as yours, Jesus. Like they were huggin’ me. Maybe I was in danger? Lots of my visions’re like that.”   
  
Indrid takes note of this as he sprinkles paprika on the top of his own eggnog.   
  
“An’ there was someone directly in fronta me. I think that was the person who was holdin’ onto me? But I couldn’t see their face.”   
  
Indrid feels his movements getting more stressed and he consciously has to force himself to relax as he sits at the table rather than by Duck on the couch.   
  
“Then I saw your glasses. Then I woke up. An’ I’m sure it was your glasses, because they just looked exactly like ‘em.”   
  
Indrid nods, lost in thought. His smile has vanished from his face.   
  
“That’s uh- that’s why I came to talk to you. Figured maybe it was all connected or somethin’.”   
  
Duck fiddles with the Pine Guard patch, sensing the tension now in the room.   
  
The two sit in silence for a while. Indrid frowns as he hardly touches his eggnog. Duck sets his now empty cup on the coffee table.   
  
“I’m afraid I cannot help you quite yet, Duck. There is more I need to figure out.”   
  
Duck nods. “Alright. It was worth a shot, yeah?”   
  
In an instant, relief washes over Indrid’s body, and his smile returns. “Yes! Indeed, a very good shot. I’m sure I will be able to help soon.”   
  
Duck picks his hat up and puts it back onto his head. “I better get goin’ then, yeah?”   
  
Indrid nods. Then he laughs.   
  
Duck frowns in a playful manner. “I ain’t even said my joke yet.”   
  
Indrid puts his hands up in defense. “Sorry!” He laughs again. “Sorry. Go ahead and say it.”   
  
Duck laughs and rolls his eyes. “Alright. I guess I’ll _seer_  myself out.”   
  
Indrid laughs again, harder, and Duck is... frozen. Frozen standing there. Staring at Indrid as he reaches a bony finger under his glasses to wipe away a tear.   
  
“Alright,” Indrid says, regaining his composure. “Go, go, before you kill me.”   
  
He and Duck both smile as Indrid puts a hand on Duck’s back to push him through the front door. “Tell Aubrey she still can’t have my glasses!”   
  
Duck laughs. God, he’s real giggly today, ain’t he? “Will do.”   
  
Indrid smiles as he closes the trailer door.    
  
Duck can’t ignore the thought that Indrid’s cold hand against his back felt awfully similar to the cold hands in his vision.


	2. Chapter 2

Duck Newton isn’t quite sure what to do with this new information. _Was_ Indrid the other person in his dream? He doesn’t know.  
  
He scratches the back of his head absentmindedly as he makes his way through the Eastwood Campground and RV Park. The wind buffets against his coat and for a moment he misses the overbearing heat of Mr. Cold’s Winnebago. He takes a glance at his watch and frowns.  6:03. Just 11 minutes until Minerva shows up.  
  
Duck unlocks his truck and slides into the front seat, turning on the burned CD he’d made for himself along with the old truck’s heater. The car clock reads 6:09 now, and Duck figures it would be better to wait to leave until Minerva has decided to show her face. He taps his foot along with the music until the clock turns to 6:14 and the ghostly, blue light figure appears standing outside of Duck’s side window.  
  
“Duck Newton!” She exclaims, her voice blocked by the driver side window, her lips moving, her voice drowned.  
  
“What?” He calls back.  
  
“Duck Newton!” He thinks he sees her mouth move to that shape.  
  
He holds up a finger. “One moment,” He yells as he rolls down the window and turns the car off.  
  
“Duck Newton!” She repeats, clearer this time, her voice echoing. “You Seem Apprehensive Tonight!”  
  
Duck frowns. “Yeah, I guess a little.”  
  
Minerva’s smile and her shoulders drop in one motion.  
  
“What Is The Matter, Duck Newton?” She asks, her voice still booming.  
  
“It ain’t- it ain’t nothin’, Minerva. B- uh. Beacon’s been gettin’ on my nerves. Lately. That’s definitely- he said a mean... joke? Or- no he- tried to give me a... paper... cut...? No- it’s- fuck. He won’t shut up about... ah... car... shows? Yeah he- puts ‘em on all the time an’... shit.  Just don’t worry ‘bout it, Minerva.”  
  
Minerva sighs. “Very Well, Duck Newton.” She thinks for a moment, then nods her head. “You Will Tell Me With Time.”  
  
Duck glances at the clock. 6:16. He turns his attention back to Minerva.  
  
“Anyhow! How Is Your Training Going, Duck Newton?”  
  
Duck grumbles. “Uh... pretty good, Minerva. You were there yesterday weren’t’cha?”  
  
Minerva smiles. “Yes, I Suppose I Was! How Are You Feeling About Your Destiny Duck Newton?”  
  
“I dunno. Still seems terrifyin’.”  
  
“Once Again I May Remind You! You Have No Need To Fear, Duck Newton!” She exclaims as she straightens her back. “For I, Minerva, Am Here To-!”  
  
She flickers out.  
  
“Here to guide ya.” Duck finishes for her, his voice solemn. “Ain’t so sure ya can do much for me, Minnie.” He says to himself quietly as he rolls the window back up.  
  
He starts the engine and pulls out onto the main road, setting his sights on the Amnesty Lodge. 

 

* * *

  
Indrid Cold frowns as he sits back down at his table. He flips his sketchbook back open to the page he had been drawing on. The face of Duck Newton smiles up at him. The same face from his vision.  
  
Duck is smiling, but he looks a bit terrified. There are clouds around, and Indrid knows they’re in the air. Flying? He frowns. _That means_... he shakes the thought away.  
  
The current thought on his mind, now, is the smile he remembers seeing on Ducks face when saying goodbye. _What a curious man_ , he thinks with a smile.  


* * *

  
Aubrey Little’s face crinkles up when Duck walks through the door. He smells like spoiled eggnog and sweat.  
  
“You went and visited Mothman, didn’t you?” She says, holding her nose closed.  
  
Duck frowns. “His name’s Indrid, Aubrey. You know that.”  
  
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Any luck on those glasses?”  
  
Duck sighs. “Nah. He says you still can’t have his glasses.”  
  
Aubrey groans comically. “Whateveeer. He’ll give in someday.”  
  
Duck shrugs.  
  
“You need to take a shower, man,” Aubrey says with a grin.  
  
“I smell that bad?”  
  
“Like gross milk.”  
  
“Didn’t notice.” Duck says, staring off into space.  
  
Aubrey raises an eyebrow. He’s acting weird, she notices. Distant. Like he’s thinking about something.  
  
“What’s up with you tonight?”  
  
Duck blinks fast as he comes back to reality. “Wha- huh?”  
  
“You’re acting all weird and distant.”  
  
Duck scratches the scruff on his chin. “Uh... I dunno. Had a question for Mr. Cold, didn’t get much.”  
  
“You didn’t strike me as the type to just go visit Mr. Eggnog.”  
  
Duck laughs and shakes his head. “It was cleaner today, y’know.”  
  
Aubrey rolls her eyes. “Yeah, alright.”  
  
“Y’know he’s really nice, actually.”  
  
“He’s a bit creepy to me. Always talking at the same time as us.”  
  
“I think it’s fun.”  
  
“...fun?”  
  
“Yeah. Y’never know what he’s gonna say.”  
  
Aubrey grins. “Sounds like you’ve become kinda friends with this guy.”  
  
Duck’s posture goes a bit rigid. “I mean- he’s nice, I dunno. I’ve only talked to him twice.”  
  
Aubrey sticks her tongue out and laughs. “I’m just messing with you, Duck.”  
  
He laughs. “Ha... yeah. I mean- it ain’t even a problem if I am friends with him, right?”  
  
Aubrey smiles. “Of course it’s not a problem, Duck. I’m sure he can be helpful. Don’t know why he’s not on the Pine Guard if he’s a seer, but I’m sure he does what he wants.”  
  
“Maybe he just don’t like bein’ around so many people.”  
  
“He doesn’t seem to mind being around you.”  
  
“I’ve only talked to ‘im twice!”  
  
Aubrey laughs again. “I’m kidding around again! You’re so defensive today.”  
  
Duck scrunches his shoulders up. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”  
  
“Why’d you stop by, Duck? We don’t have a meeting today.”  
  
Duck smiles. “Ya think I don’t like you? I just wanted to check in. See how things are going.” He shrugs. “And see how things are going in preparation for the next Abomination.” He adds.  
  
“Aw, you big lug. Things are going fine, thanks. No news yet on the next bom bom.”  
  
Duck laughs and gives her a side hug. “Glad to hear that, kiddo.”  
  
She laughs as he shoves his arm off her. “I’m not a kid!”  
  
“Yer like half my age! I’m allowed to call ya kiddo.”  
  
Aubrey laughs and punches him in the arm. “Whatever, grandpa.”  
  
“Only 46, Aubrey.”  
  
“Old enough to be my dad!”  
  
They both laugh. Aubrey, in that moment, is happy to have Duck around. He acts much like a father figure, and it’s nice. He’s welcoming, and always wants to know how she’s doing, even when everything is fine.  
  
Duck tips his hat as he puts one hand in his pocket. “I oughta get home, then.” He says. “Good to see ya, Aubrey.”  
  
“You too.” She says with a smile and a wave  


* * *

  
When Duck gets back in his truck with a smile on his face, he finds his thoughts returning to Mr. Cold. He thought hard. _Indrid had been acting a bit off himself_ , Duck thought. But then again, Duck had only met the man twice. Maybe that was simply how he acted. It wasn’t like he would be hiding something, right?  


* * *

  
Indrid shoves everything off his table in one swift arm movement. He places sketch after sketch on the table top, staring at them all intently. He isn’t sure how to feel about all the Duck-centered visions he’s having.  
  
One sketch shows Duck laughing. The setting is different. Indrid doesn’t know where it is. There’s a lit fireplace behind Duck.  
  
Another one shows a wolf, snarling its teeth, its eyes unnatural and glowing. Duck’s face is reflected in the beast’s pupils. This image fills him with a terror he doesn’t recognize.  
  
A third sketch is dark. Duck Newton walks through a darkened forest with nothing but his flashlight to guide him. He looks frightened, and looking at his face sends a pang through Indrid’s heart.  
  
He groans as he wipes a hand down his face. He adjusts his glasses with care. He turns two of the space heaters off. Indrid looks around at the pile of crumpled papers now littering the floor once again. He sighs, turns off the lights, and climbs into his bed under 3 heavy blankets. When visions come to him in dreams, they tend to be worse. He silently hopes for a dreamless night.  


* * *

  
Duck pats his cat on the head as he enters his apartment and locks the door. She meows as she rubs against his leg, and he smiles.  
  
“Alright, alright,” He says as he grabs a can of cat food, opening it into her bowl. “There ya go.”  
  
Duck kicks off his shoes and hangs his coat on the rack by the door. He pauses, then takes a sleeve and puts it to his nose. Aubrey may have said he smelled bad, but Duck doesn’t think it smells too horrible. Sure it’s not wonderful, but he thinks it’s better than how it smelled the first time they visited Indrid.  
  
Duck sits on his bed, pondering. Indrid is now the only person he has told about his “chose one” status. _I’m not rushing into this, am I?_ He thinks as he scratches his head. _Nah. He’s a seer. He was bound to find out anyways. And now he can help me._ Duck smiles to himself a bit. _Maybe Indrid is a friend now. Maybe that’s a good thing._


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been two days, no danger has reared its ugly head, which would make perfect sense for the schedule, but Duck feels a twist in his stomach. His vision still hasn’t come to pass. Which means, by his powers of inference, it’s going to happen when the next Abomination decides to show up.

 

 _Maybe Mr. Cold knows something_. Duck thinks to himself. _I could pay him a visit. See what he knows._

 

Duck doesn’t make it to the trailer door before it opens. Indrid looks out at him, a smile on his face and a glass of eggnog in hand.

 

“What brings you here today, Duck?” He asks, beaming.

 

Duck finds himself smiling too, but he can’t figure out why. “No word about the next Pine Guard mission. Was wondering if maybe you knew anything.”

 

Indrid laughs and waves a hand, inviting Duck inside.

 

“They usually only show up around the full moon, every two months, am I correct?”

 

“Yeah, but I guess-“

 

“That’s not really for another month or so then, Duck.” Indrid says, smiling, as he shoves a bit of junk off his table and lifts it into the wall, revealing the couch. “Would you like to talk?” He gestures for Duck to take a seat.

 

“...Yeah,” Duck says quietly. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

 

When Duck begins to ask what Indrid might know about the next Abomination, Indrid changes the subject. He asks about any interesting animals or trees Duck has seen recently. At first it’s a bit frustrating, having his question waved off like that, but after a while there’s a certain comfort to it.

 

Duck can’t help but notice that thinking about the Abominations, about his destiny, about fighting — it scares him. It rattles his core in a way that he can’t put into words. He feels obligated to think about these things, he thinks that thinking will help him prepare, but in truth it only seems to make him feel even more scared of what’s to come.

 

So maybe he’s not so upset when Indrid brushes off Duck’s question of visions, and instead asks Duck to elaborate on the first time he saw a deer in the woods. Maybe it helps a bit to tell someone about how seeing the white spots on the back of that fawn had made him feel a spark with nature. Maybe it’s nice to tell someone that the reason he joined the park service wasn’t just to escape his destiny, but because when he saw that young deer while smoking a cigarette and skipping 5th period in his senior year of high school, he felt something light up inside of him. Maybe he’s seeing things, or maybe Indrid’s smile has always looked this warm.

 

Duck doesn’t like to talk too much. When he was a child his mom would often scold him for talking people’s ears off. Tell him to let the other person talk. So it’s nice when the only things Indrid says are when he can’t help himself and speaks at the same time as Duck. And they laugh. And it feels light in a way that makes Duck think of that time he saw that fawn in the woods.

 

Time flies fast. Faster than Duck would’ve liked to admit. Indrid pours them both mugs of hot chocolate, perfect for the cold of mid January. Duck looks down at the brown drink as if it’s foreign in a place like this. Indrid laughs and says living off just eggnog would probably kill him. For a while they sit in perfect silence, Duck thinking to himself and Indrid staring out the window.

 

“What about you?” Duck says at last. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Indrid look surprised in the least.

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah,” Duck says with a grin as he sets his mug on the coffee table. “You got any hobbies?”

 

Indrid rests his lips on the rim of his cup, his smile vanishing. Duck can tell he’s hit something.

 

There’s silence.

 

“Not really,” Indrid says after a while. “I don’t... get out much.”

 

Duck props an elbow up onto the back of the couch. “Why not?”

 

Indrid shrugs as he takes another drink. “I don’t know. I never really... had anyone to go out and do anything with.”

 

Duck feels a pang of sympathy. “Y’know, Aubrey ‘n’ Ned ‘n’ I, we’re almost always open,” He pauses. Corrects himself. “Well, _I’m_ always open.”

 

The corners of Indrid’s mouth perk up. “Open for what? What even is there to do?”

 

Duck smiles wide. “Tons of stuff! We could uh... well there’s the ski slopes, but god I ain’t fit for that.” He laughs and feels relieved when Indrid laughs along. “But there _is_ a place up there with the best damn French onion soup you’ll ever eat in your life.”

 

Indrid turns to smile at Duck and cocks his head. “‘French onion soup?’” He asks. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had that.”

 

Duck’s eyes widen as he feigns horror. “What?!” He exclaims. “Never had it? You’re missin’ out on valuable moments in life! The best it has to offer!”

 

Indrid laughs hard, and Duck can’t seem to stop smiling.

 

“We gotta get you up there and get a bowl of that soup in your gut pronto!”

 

“Pronto!” Indrid says as Duck does, once he’s finally managed to stop laughing.

 

They dissolve into laughter. Conversation takes over again and the aura of comfort that envelops them like a blanket is thick and warm. Time begins to fly again. They’re talking about anything and everything they would do to spend a day if Duck could get Indrid out of the Winnebago. Out of the RV park. Into the world.

 

“Y’know Mr. Cold-“

 

“Please, Duck,” Indrid says, putting a hand on Duck’s shoulder. Duck feels a shiver run down his spine. “Indrid is fine.”

 

“Indrid,” Duck says with a smile. “Everyone’s real apprehensive about you, but uh- I don’t know, you seem- well. You seem real nice in my opinion.”

 

Indrid’s smile softens. “That means a lot to hear, Duck.”

 

“You an’ I should go out sometime. Hang out or somethin’.”

 

Indrid smiles thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

 

“How about-“

 

“Saturday?”

 

Duck laughs. “Yeah. Noon?”

 

“Works for me!” Indrid says as he finally finishes his hot chocolate.

 

Duck smiles, punching Indrid softly in the arm. “Great. I’ll see ya then.”

 

“Thank you for visiting, Duck.” Indrid says with his usual grin, rubbing his arm where Duck had punched him.

 

“Thanks for uh... thanks for gettin’ my mind off the stress.”

 

“Any time.”

 

Duck waves one last time as he steps through the trailer door, zipping his jacket back up as he steps into the cold. Indrid waves back.

 

When the door closes, Indrid groans and runs his hands down his face. _Leave the trailer?_ He stands up, turning to his wall of hundreds of his future drawings now rendered useless. _What was I thinking?_ Saturday. _I am leaving this trailer for more than 10 minutes. For the first time in decades._


	4. Chapter 4

Duck is not sure why he extended that offer to Indrid. He’s starting to regret it. His mind runs laps around the sun. _What if things go wrong? What if it makes him uncomfortable? What if this is the worst possible idea to introduce him back into the world?_

  
Yes, he thinks it would be neat to get to know the guy. _But what if I’m making a mistake?_

  
“Hey, Duck?” Aubrey’s voice breaks through the smog.

  
“Hm? What?” Duck says, blinking out of his thoughts.

 

“You okay?” She laughs as she jabs his side with her elbow. “You’re acting all weird and distance-y like you do when you’re upset.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinkin’ about stuff’s all.”

 

“Thinking is _dangerous,_ Duck!” Aubrey says, her voice imitating that of a cartoon ghost on the word “dangerous”, wobbling through notes.

 

Duck can’t help but laugh, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She shrieks.

 

“No! Hands off the money maker!” She protests, pushing his hands away with a grin.

 

“I thought yer money maker was the rabbit?”

 

“His _name,_ Duck, is Dr. Harris Bonkers. _Please._ He worked hard for that Ph.D..”

 

“Right. Ph.D. rabbit.”

 

Aubrey flicks her fingers and a small flame ignites, and she flicks it into the fireplace in the center of the room.

 

“Seriously, you okay?” She asks.

 

“Yeah,” Duck says, watching Barclay in the other room as he pulls a tray of rolls out of the oven and immediately has to pull them away from Ned’s grabby hands.

 

Duck watches Barclay put all the rolls into a basket. Barclay picks the basket up and comes into the main room, offering rolls to the various patrons. Moira’s hand phases through one, and she grabs it on the second try. Barclay rounds back to the couches by the fireplace, and Aubrey reaches her hand in quickly, grabbing a roll and shoving it in her mouth.

 

Duck grabs one as well, and finally, Barclay turns to Ned and offers the basket to him.

 

“‘Bout time,” Ned says as he takes a roll.

 

“This is really fucking good, Barclay!” Aubrey says with a grin.

 

“Well thank you, Aubrey,” Barclay says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

 

Duck just sits there, holding his roll, lost in thought.

 

“You gonna eat that?” Ned asks, pointing to Duck’s roll after he finishes his own.

 

Duck blinks. “What? Yeah, I am. You ain’t stealin’ my roll, Ned.”

 

“Damn.”

 

“Nice try, Ned Greedy Chicane,” Aubrey says with a smirk.

 

Duck laughs and takes a bite of his roll.

 

* * *

 

“Duck Newton!” Minerva says as she appears at 6:14, right on schedule.

 

“Hey, Minerva.”

 

“Duck Neewtoon.” She says with a teasing smile. “You Are Not Outside! What Of Our Daily Training?

 

Duck stabs his fork into his leftover Chinese takeout. “I got plans tomorrow, I can’t just train all willy nilly. Don’t want my back hurtin’.”

 

Minerva smiles and drifts in front of his line of sight. “Plans?”

 

“I’m goin’ somewhere with a pal.”

 

“An Outing! Splendid. Will This Outing Assist You In Your Destiny, Duck Newton?” She looks hopeful.

 

Duck thinks for a moment. Will it? Indrid can see the future. Well. Several futures. That could help. Indrid could help explain his visions. Help him feel better.

 

“It might, Minerva. It might.”

 

“Wonderful! I Am Filled With Glee To Hear That You Are Embracing Your Destiny At Last!”

 

Duck sighs. Scratches behind his ear. Smiles a bit. The television dings as the person guessing “A” gets 5 spaces filled. He turns his head to look up at Minerva.

 

“Yeah. I guess I kinda am.”s

 

She smiles, and in an instant, disappears.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Saturday morning. 11:30 am. Duck Newton is driving to the Eastwood Campground and RV Park. He fidgets with the patch inside his jacket. The trees roll by his car windows in a soft mural of brown and white. The snow covering the branches is delicate and sparkling like jewels.

 

When he pulls up to the brown Winnebago, he rolls his car to a stop. The fresh snow crunches under his boots, and he leaves the truck running. He can see his breath in the cold, crisp air, but it’s a perfect day. The sky is clear and the snow is reflecting the sun’s light beautifully.

 

When he steps up to it, the trailer door swings open. What Duck Sees is fascinating.

 

Indrid stands in the doorway, completely covered in warm winter clothes. He has fur lined boots that lace up to his knees, heavy pants made for someone planning to ski. He’s bundled in what looks like not one, but _two_ heavy coats. He has a scarf around his thin neck, earmuffs and a hat on his head, and gloves on his bony hands. The only thing recognizable is the bright red glasses reflecting Duck’s face back at him.

 

“Hello, Duck!” Indrid says behind it all. “I am not one for the cold.”

 

“Seems pretty ironic, what with yer name an’ all that.” Duck says with a grin.

 

“Well, I guess you’re right in that aspect,” Indrid says, smiling.

 

Indrid closes the door behind him as he takes a deep breath and steps into the outside world. Duck walks to the passenger’s side of the truck, opening the door for Indrid.

 

“I know how a car door works, Duck,” Indrid says with a quizzical grin, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Oh!” Duck feels his face flush. “Right! Of course! I didn’t know if- Ah’m so sorry, I didn’t think-“

 

Indrid puts a gloved hand on Duck’s arm. “It’s alright, Duck. I’m flattered by your insistence to help me.”

 

Duck feels a smile crawl onto his face. “Right.”

 

He walks around to the driver’s side and hops in. When both the car doors close, Indrid takes off his hat and scarf, holding them in his lap.

 

“The truck is warm.” He says, to no one in particular.

 

And then they’re off. Duck reverses the car and pulls off onto the main road, heading to the funicular team that will take the two of them to the ski slopes, and their final destination. Duck turns his CD on, and Indrid’s attention is almost immediately drawn to the music.

 

Duck hums along with the slow song pouring through the speakers.

 

“I don’t know this song,” Indrid says. “I like it.”

 

“‘S one-a my favorites,” Duck says with a smile. He taps his left foot along with the beat. “Almost Heaven….” he murmurs quietly along with the radio. “West Virginia…..”

 

“Blue Ridge Mountains,” Indrid whispers in time.

 

“Thought ya said ya don’t know this song?”

 

“I don’t,” Indrid says. “It’s much like conversation, though. I can sort of… see it coming.”

 

Duck nods. “Nice.”

 

“Yes,” Indrid says with a smile. “I didn’t really think about using my future seeing abilities for something like this.”

 

“It’d be mighty useful for karaoke, I bet.”

 

“Oh! Maybe!” Indrid perks up. “I’ll have to try that sometime.”

 

“Yeah! We could go together sometime, with Aubrey an’ Ned.” Duck says with a broad smile.

 

When they arrive in the parking lot of the funicular tram, Duck remembers weeks earlier when it came off the rails. When Indrid helped them save three lives. Now, the tram looks good as new, and Duck glances at Indrid. Indrid puts his scarf and hat back on.

 

Indrid looks at Duck. “Everything’s fine, I think.”

 

Duck smiles and starts heading in. “Great!”

 

When the two reach the top, Duck doesn’t head to the ski trails. Instead, he heads to the Wolf Ember Grill, home of the best French onion soup he has ever had.

 

The two get a table, and Indrid removes his hat, earmuffs, scarf, and gloves. He leaves the second coat on.

 

“Why do you need so much heat, Indrid?”

 

“Why do you need so much heat?” Indrid says in sync with Duck. “Well, I’m.” Indrid laughs. “I’m a ‘mothman’, Duck. Why do you think moths like light?”

 

“I dunno, warmth?”

 

“Precisely that.”

 

The two stop their conversation as the waiter sidles up to their table. “What can I get for ya? Drinks?”

 

“I’ll take a coke,” Duck says.

 

Indrid stares. He knows from his visions that the likelihood of this establishment having eggnog is very low. He decides not to prod.

 

“I will… also do that.”

 

The waiter jots it down and heads back to the kitchen.

 

“You a coke person too?” Duck asks, hoping maybe that’s something they have in common.

 

“I’ve never had it,” Indrid says.

 

“What!” Duck struggles to keep his voice down. “How’s there so much you’ve never had?”

 

Indrid laughs. “I don’t get out much, Duck. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

 

Duck chuckles, fiddling with the patch in his jacket again. “Right.”

 

The waiter brings their drinks back and sets them down, and Duck orders two bowls of French onion soup. Then he turns to look at Indrid, a grin on his face.

 

“What?”

 

“I wanna see you try coke for the first time! This is excitin’.”

 

Indrid rolls his eyes, bringing the drink closer and putting the straw in his mouth. He takes a drink and then sits back in his chair. He clicks his mouth a couple times. Duck watches in anticipation.

 

“It’s alright,” Indrid says after a while of silence.

 

“Yeah, it ain’t my all time favorite drink, but it’s pretty good! Thought you’d have more of a reaction, though.”

 

Indrid tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, his usual grin wide as ever. “Really? It’s not _too_ phenomenal.”

 

Duck shakes his head. “Alright, Mr. Drinks Nothing But Eggnog.”

 

Indrid laughs, a tone of indignation in his voice. “You and I had hot chocolate the other day! So you _know_ that’s not true.”

 

The two laugh for a while, dissolving into friendly conversation. Indrid asks what Duck’s favorite drink _is,_ and says the answer as Duck does. Duck is about to ask what Indrid’s favorite food is, and Indrid replies with “raisins” before Duck can get the whole question out of his mouth. Again Indrid giggles before Duck can tell his joke, and the two laugh together. By the time their soups arrive, Indrid’s cheeks have taken a rosier hue, but Duck figures he’s just cold.

 

As with Ned, Duck decides to wait to watch Indrid take his first bite. A bit of him is worried that Indrid won’t be as impressed as he hoped. Indrid can tell Duck is expectant, so he picks up his spoon, and takes a bite.

 

Indrid’s posture shoots up. Duck can only assume that Indrid’s eyes are wide behind his ruby glasses. Indrid puts a hand to his lips, staring down at the soup bowl.

 

“Holy shit,” Indrid says when he finally swallows.

 

Duck smiles triumphantly. “Right?”

  
“That’s amazing.”

  
“ _Right?_ ”

 

The two go quiet as they each dig into the most amazing, flavorful soup either of them has ever tasted. Occasional conversation breaks through the eating, but for the most part, they simply enjoy the comfortable silence. Duck finishes his first, and decides to jokingly reach his spoon over towards Indrid’s bowl. Indrid looks up at him before he’s even moved.

 

“Don’t even think about it.” He says, challenge in his voice. Indrid’s brows furrow, and his lips point down in a frown.

 

Duck laughs in surprise. “Right-o. Got it.”

 

Indrid breaks back into his jovial grin. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to unnerve you there. This soup is just really good.”

 

Duck waves him off. “I getcha there, man.”

 

* * *

 

 

Indrid can feel his cheeks flushing. He can feel his own heartbeat in his throat. He feels all these things as they head back to Duck’s truck after that fine meal. He feels all these things as Duck starts singing along to another song on the way back to Indrid’s Winnebago. He feels all these things as Duck says he had fun, and that he’d love to hang out again sometime.

 

He notices when Duck says “love”. He notices when Duck fidgets with the patch inside his jacket as he says that. He notices the smile on Duck’s face as he waves goodbye to him through his car windshield.

 

Indrid notices how his heart races as he closes the door. The television screens in his head going wild. His visions changing as fast as his head was spinning.

 

Indrid knows this was not how that was meant to go. He knows that Duck meant this as an outing between two friends. But he also knows that he can see many futures that Duck may not.

 

He sees futures that have now developed themselves almost crystal clear. Futures where he is in the Amnesty Lodge. And Duck is there. And it is just the two of them. And the room is warm.

 

And he tries his best to tune those out.

 

Because he has hardly known Duck. And yet he knows so much. It is hard to not see what he does. It is hard to not see what the future holds for Duck Newton. But it is even harder to tune out what he sees that the future holds for Duck Newton… _and_ him.

 

Because he knows that right now, at this moment, Duck simply sees him as a friend. Because he knows that right now, at this moment, he should simply see Duck as a friend.

 

Because he knows that right now, at this moment, he shouldn’t still be thinking about the park ranger.


	5. Chapter 5

Indrid Cold is not well for the remainder of that day. He takes the red glasses off of his face, wings revealing themselves and red eyes widening, dark fuzz spreading across his body. He tosses them across the room, and they land on the couch with a soft thud. He slides down against the door, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his wings around himself. He hasn’t allowed himself to be in his natural form for a while.

 

He isn’t ready to love again. He knows this. He knows this even as his heart pounds. Not after… He pushes it from his mind. How they ended was his fault, he knows. When he walked out. He knows there’s no fixing that. He knows there is nothing there anymore, but that doesn’t stop him from caring. He messed up. He can only imagine he’ll mess up again.

 

Duck Newton probably doesn’t love him. He knows this. They’ve only met four times, and Indrid knows it is only his premonitions that are making him so frustrated. He feels a horrible feeling in his chest. His head _pounds_ from the amount of futures being thrown at him. It hurts like hell. He wobbles to his feet, stumbling to the fridge.

 

He’s out of eggnog. Of course. So he grabs a cup from the cabinet and fills it with water instead. He downs it quickly. He shivers. Indrid stumbles to his bed, collapsing in a shaking heap.

 

He can’t do this. He can’t do this to Duck. He can’t go back to that lodge. He can’t look Mama in the eyes, after so many years away. He can’t face Barclay. He can’t make up for what he did.

 

He wishes Duck were there. He doesn’t care that that would mean Duck seeing him… like this. Duck’s smile is warm, and Indrid feels so cold.

 

xxx

 

Indrid is curled up in an old bunker. He has been for a while. His head is splitting. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, matting the fuzz in their tracks. The Silver Bridge has just collapsed. 46 people are dead. No one listened. Maybe he could have tried harder. Done more. Said more.

 

Why did he have to be so mysterious? No one wanted to listen to the muttering man in the bright red glasses.

 

He hates those glasses. He hates looking like one of _them._ Those selfish beings who won’t pay attention to anything around them. They didn’t listen to him. He wasn’t clear enough. _I’m-_ he stops himself. _I was the court Seer. I should have been able to stop this._ A sob escapes Indrid’s chest. _I’m useless._

 

* * *

 

He’s in the lodge. He’s dragging a suitcase behind him. He’s trying not to cry. He’s heading towards the door.

 

“You don’t have to leave,” Barclay’s voice from behind him. He can’t turn to look at him. He can’t.

 

“Yes, I do. I can’t do this anymore. There’s too much danger. Too much unpredictability.” He says through his teeth.

 

“But that’s _okay_ ,” Barclay says, his voice pleading. He reaches for Indrid’s arm, but he flinches and moves away.

 

“Don’t. I’m leaving. What am I supposed to do if you die? I can’t watch that happen. I can’t do it.” Indrid feels a tear escape and he swipes it away under his stupid glasses.

 

“I won’t die! It’s okay, Indrid, I swear, we’ll be okay-”

 

Indrid turns to face him. One last look before he leaves, he tells himself. “I can’t sit here pretending it doesn’t bother me anymore, Barclay. I can’t do this anymore. You care about everyone’s safety but your own and one day it’ll catch up to you and I won’t be able to handle that. It’s over.”

 

He leaves before Barclay can say anything more.

 

* * *

 

That was well over 10 years ago. So much has changed. Indrid sees it all. Indrid sees all the futures playing through his head, pounding against his skull. He sees futures where he _is_ back at the lodge. Where he and Barclay are friends again. But nothing more. Nothing can fix completely what he’s done, and he has known this for 30 years. That has been enough time for him to move on. But friendship would be so much better than silence.

 

But _Duck?_ He’s only met him four times. He’s only talked to him four times. They barely know each other. But Indrid sees so much. It’s all so terrifying. So much to handle. He grabs his sketch pad. Starts scribbling. Trying to get it all _out_ , so he doesn’t have to keep seeing it. Flashing like a strobe behind his eye lands

 

And after a while, his tears stop, his headache fades. He sleeps away the cold Saturday afternoon.

 

* * *

 

 

“Duck Newton! Are You Ready For Your Training Today?” Minerva says as her shimmering form appears in the alleyway behind Duck’s apartment complex.

 

“Yeah, Minnie.” Duck says as he tosses Beacon from one hand to the other, a smile on his face.

 

“You Seem In High Spirits Today, Duck Newton!” She says, tilting her head.

 

“Yeah, guess I am.”

 

Minerva waves a hand, and the form of a sword appears, blending into her light hand.

 

“Then Let Us Begin!”

 

Duck is knocked down almost immediately. Minerva has no trouble whatsoever startling him and catching him off guard. After a minute of Duck not really trying to do much in terms of attack, Minerva stops.

 

“Duck Newton.” Her voice is firm. “You Are Distracted.”

 

Duck blinks. _I am?_ She swipes her light sword through his chest, and he makes no move. _I am._

 

“Sorry ‘bout that Minerva. I’m havin’ a real good day. Hung out with a friend earlier, an’ I get to hang out other friends later.” Duck scratches the scruff on his chin, then tucks a piece of dark, wavy hair back behind his ear.

 

Minerva seems to smile. “I Am Glad You Are Having An Enjoyable Day! But I Must Stress How Important It Is That You-“

 

She disappears.

 

“Whoops.”

 

* * *

 

 

Duck is still a tad giddy when he enters the Cryptonomica at 7 pm that night. Aubrey and Ned both notice.

 

As Ned prepares for that night’s show of Saturday Night Dead, Duck leans against the store’s check out counter. Aubrey is sitting on it, kicking her legs a bit back and forth.

 

“You look happy,” Aubrey says with a grin.

 

“Do I?” Duck cocks his head. “I been gettin’ that all day.”

 

“You’re practically glowing, my man.”

 

Duck scratches his head. He’s not sure why he’d be _glowing._

 

“Did you do anything different today?” She prods.

 

“Well, I did see Indrid today.”

 

Aubrey grimaces. “Really? Eggnog man? Won’t give me his glasses man? Won’t let me see his wings man?”

 

Duck laughs. “Yeah, him.”

 

“Blegh.”

 

Duck furrows his brows in thought. It wasn’t that big of a deal. He was glad to get to know Indrid better, but it couldn’t have had that much of an effect on him, could it?

 

Ned begins his daily spiel for the show, and the two go quiet so as not to interrupt. When it cuts, after Ned introduces the movie of the night, Ned walks over to the two of them.

 

“So, Bigfoot’s big, right? But not big _enough.”_  He says, putting his hands in front of him. “At least, not here. So, you want to know what I’m thinking?”

 

“Nah,” Duck says, mocking.

 

“Nope,” Aubrey chimes in with a smirk.

 

Ned rolls his eyes, and then pushes his hands out again, presenting his case. “ _Mothman.”_  He does little jazz hands.

 

Aubrey and Duck are silent.

 

“Nah,” Duck says at last.

 

“Aw, come on!” Ned protests. “He’s already a West Virginia cryptid!” He lowers his voice and hisses through his teeth, “He lives right down the road, for fuck's sake.”

 

Aubrey laughs. “What, you think you can convince him to do a photo shoot or something?”

 

Ned shrugs. “I’m sure the guy’s gotta make money too, yeah? In this economy?”

 

Now it’s Duck’s turn to roll his eyes. “ _We’ve_ never even seen ‘im out of his disguise, what makes ya think he’d do it for photos?”

 

“The _profit_ , Duck, duh! Bet the guy’s gotta get money for more eggnog somehow!”

 

Aubrey shivers and makes a disapproving noise.

 

“Why don’t you ask him, yeah?” Duck says, challenging Ned. “Call him up, see what he says.”

 

Ned’s shoulders fall in defeat. “Aw Duck, you _know_ he’d turn _me_ down.”

 

Aubrey perks up. She jabs her elbow into Duck’s side.

 

“Ow,” he whines quietly.

 

“Duck, _you_ should ask him.”

 

“What?” Ned and Duck say in unison.

 

“Why me?” Duck protests.

 

“Yeah, why him?” Ned says, curiosity clear in his voice.

 

“Well,” Aubrey says, grinning sinisterly. “Since you’re getting all buddy-buddy with him, I just figured you might be best, Duck.”

 

Duck frowns. “I ain’t gettin’ all ‘buddy-buddy’.” He says sternly. “I only took him to try that fantastic French onion soup today.”

 

“Like a _date_?” Aubrey teases.

 

Ned holds a finger up. “Now now, Aubrey, I know what Duck’s talking about, and it’s the best damn French onion soup anyone will ever have. Sounds like Duck has simply given our seer friend a taste of luxury dining.”

 

Duck laughs. So does Aubrey. Then Ned joins in.

 

But Duck thinks to himself in silence, Aubrey’s teasing words running through his head. “Like a _date_?”. _That wasn’t a date,_ Duck thinks. _Right?_

 

Duck nods to himself. No, that was not a date. It was an outing among friends. Besides, he barely knows the guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do u mean its midnight? post chapter anyway babey!! im gay and i do what i want


	6. Chapter 6

Indrid wakes up to the sound of soft knocking on the trailer door. The air feels like thick jelly and he can see that it’s dark outside.  _ I fell asleep _ . He thinks.  _ Who’s at the door? _ Too many possibilities. His body and mind feel like molasses. He unfurls his wings and then tucks them back closed.

 

The knocking comes again. “Indrid? You in there?”

 

_ Duck. _

 

Duck’s voice jolts Indrid out of his sluggish state as anxiety shoots through his veins. He thanks some unseeable force for his tinted windows as he scrambles off the bed.

 

“I’ll be there in a second!” He calls.  _ 5 seconds, _ he thinks subconsciously.

 

He stumbles to the couch and slams his glasses back onto his face, the sudden change a bit jarring, but he adjusts quickly. He throws open the door, and he sees the shocked look on Duck’s face.

 

“ **You alright?** ” They say together.

 

“I was in the middle of a nap,” Indrid says, smoothing his hair and his shirt and straightening his glasses.

 

“Sorry ‘bout wakin’ you up.” Duck says, a bit sheepish.

 

Indrid waves a hand, a grin splitting his face. “I needed to wake up anyways, or I would have thrown off my sleep schedule..”

 

Duck nods. “Yeah, I  **know what you mean** .”

 

“Why are you here, Duck?”

 

“No guesses?”

 

“I just woke up, Duck,” Indrid says, still smiling.

 

Duck laughs.

 

“Would you like to come in?” Indrid says, stepping away from the doorway.

 

Duck shrugs, a smile on his face. “Why not.”

 

Indrid feels the heat rising up his neck. “So Duck, why are you here?”

 

Duck sits down on the couch as if he’d done it a thousand times. “Well, Ned’s got a question for you, but I don’t need seein’ powers to think yer not gonna like it.”

 

Indrid pulls up a chair and sits down, crossing one leg on top of the other.. “Well?” He says, cocking his head.

 

“Ned wants to take pictures of ya.”

 

“Clarify?”

 

“Without yer disguise. For the Cryptonomica. He says he’d share the profit with ya but- I don’t really trust ‘im on that.”

 

Indrid stares. He laughs. “Absolutely not.”

 

Duck laughs too. “I thought you  **might say that** .”

 

Indrid shakes his head, still laughing. “No, no he cannot take pictures of me without my disguise. I’d prefer he didn’t photograph me  _ period. _ ”

 

“And then there’s  **Aubrey, she** -“

 

“No, again. These glasses aren’t going anywhere.”

 

“She’ll be  _ sooo _ disappointed,” Duck says with a smirk.

 

Indrid shrugs. “Ah well.”

 

Duck thinks for a moment. “Can I ask you a… personal question?”

 

Indrid raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

 

“Why… well, let me start over. All the Sylphs at the lodge, well, they’re all fine with showin’ us their Sylph forms.”

 

Indrid nods.

 

“So…” Duck scratches the back of his head. “Why aren’t you?”

 

Indrid… isn’t sure how to answer. His smile falters. He finds himself staring at the ground. 

 

“It’s fine if ya don’t want to ans-”

 

“My undisguised form is… foreign, to me. At this point. Of course, it is me, and I know it feels like me, but it does not feel like it… belongs to  _ me. _ ”

 

Duck’s face falls.

 

“At least… not anymore. Not after… not after 1966.”

 

Duck clasps his hands in his lap, and leans forward a bit, trying to look at Indrid’s face.

 

“Now I am only- I am only  _ danger. _ A  _ harbinger _ . A  _ demon _ , to some. A bringer of  _ destruction _ .” He spits every word like venom, his face twisted. “A  _ monster _ .”

 

Things are silent. And then Duck is kneeling in front of him. Indrid doesn’t realize he’s crying until Duck wipes the tears off of his face. 

 

“It’s okay, Indrid,” Duck says softly.

 

Indrid feels his whole chest shudder with sobs, and he can’t stop. He wants to stop. He doesn’t want Duck to see him like this.  The crying doesn’t stop when Duck hugs him. But Duck is warm, and soft, and gentle. And it helps a little.

 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Duck says, his voice gentle. “You’re  _ not _ a monster.”

 

Indrid doesn’t know how long it lasts. Doesn’t know how long he holds onto Duck like a lifeline. How long he cries into the park ranger’s shoulder.

 

For a moment in all the haze, Indrid is lost in the visions in his head, coming to him in a flurry. He can hardly decipher it all. Duck is in so many of them. He sees a future with Duck showing him how to move a plant from one pot to another, and Duck places the newly planted sprout on the table.

 

He sees a future, and he’s certain they are in the Amnesty Lodge. Barclay is there, too. Duck leans over to kiss Indrid’s cheek, and Barclay makes an exaggerated, disgusted face, and then they all break into laughter.

 

He sees a vision of Duck, wearing Indrid’s glasses, a goofy smile on his face. Indrid says something, and Duck makes a face of false shock, and then eases back into a smile and bright laughter.

 

Indrid is suddenly aware of the current events unfolding, and he forces those farther off visions back to the backburner. 

 

Indrid picks himself back up. Pulls away from the hug and sits there, blank. Duck pulls a travel sized tissue pack out of a pocket, and hands it to Indrid. He wipes his face off with a tissue, and then silently hands the pack back to Duck.

 

“I’m sorry,” Indrid finally croaks out, hands clasping the used tissue so hard his knuckles are pale.

 

“Don’t be.”

 

“You didn’t need to see that.”

 

“Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on,” Duck says, his voice sincere.

 

“I’m sorry,” Indrid says again, quietly. “I’m overreacting.”

 

“No,” Duck says, putting his hand on Indrid’s knee. “No, you’re not.” 

 

Indrid sniffs, and then he brings his head up to look Duck in the eye.

 

“Is it your  **glasses** ?” Duck wonders out loud. “Is that why you don’t take them off?”

 

Indrid sighs. “Yes.” 

 

Indrid reaches up, putting his fingers on either arm of his glasses. Duck reaches his own hands up, putting them on Indrid’s, holding them in place.

 

“What are you doin’?”

 

“Taking them off.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Duck says. “ **Really** .”

 

“I owe it to you,” Indrid says, his voice quivering.

 

“You don’t owe me anythin’. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, Indrid.”

 

Indrid’s grip on his glasses loosens, and Duck pulls Indrid’s hands away from his face, putting Indrid’s hands onto his knees. Duck stands and walks over to the kitchenette. Indrid turns to watch him, feeling a bit numb. Duck rummages around in the cabinets, pulling out a clean mug and setting it on the counter. He opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggnog and fills the mug. Then he puts the carton back and strides back over to Indrid, handing him the cup.

 

Indrid flashes a grateful smile as he takes it. The cool ceramic against his hands makes him shiver.

 

“You cold?” Duck asks, worry hinting at the edge of his voice.

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

Duck takes off his jacket, and when Indrid puts a hand up as if to say “No, thank you” Duck decides not to hand it to him and rather take direct action and drape it around Indrid’s shoulders.

 

“Thank you,” Indrid says. “But you really… didn’t need to.”

 

Duck shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Hot as hell in here to me anyway.”

 

Duck looks around the trailer. He starts talking. Indrid doesn’t remember any of it later. They just talk. Duck talks about interesting flora and fauna as he stacks the dirty plates in his hand. Duck suggests Indrid takes up gardening as he puts the dishes in the sink. Indrid asks what kinds Duck would recommend as Duck gathers all the abandoned cups and mugs and puts them in the sink as well. Duck suggests succulents as he turns the faucet on and starts scrubbing them clean.

 

Indrid says Duck didn’t have to do that for him when he hands Duck’s jacket back. Duck only smiles.

 

“You looked like you could use some help,” He says with a small shrug. “It’s nothin’.”

 

“Thank you,” Indrid murmurs, his grin returning.

 

“Hey,” Duck says, nudging Indrid’s arm with a fist. “I’m always here if you need me.”

 

Indrid smiles wider and waves as Duck opens the trailer door and slips his jacket back on, giving Indrid a wave before the door closes behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Duck visits more often, after that. Indrid doesn’t like being lonely. He doesn’t like how tightly the feeling wraps around his chest and suffocates him. But he isn’t lonely when Duck is around, and he is so grateful. He can tell it helps Duck in a way, too.

 

Indrid raises his eyebrows and tilts his head as he opens the door one day. “You have something, Duck,” he says plainly.

 

Duck smiles. “A gift,” is all he says as he holds his hands behind his back.

 

Indrid opens the door wider, and Duck steps into the trailer, and Indrid closes the door before the chilly wind can seep too far into his home.

 

He turns to see Duck facing him, grinning.

 

“Alright,” Indrid says, the smile contagious. “What is it?”

 

Duck pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing  _ two _ items. In one hand, a bag filled to the brim. In the other, a small, fragile, potted plant. Its leaves are thick and rounded, fanning out like a flower.

 

Duck sets the plant and the bag on the table. Duck then begins to reveal the contents of the bag and set them out on the table as well. Indrid watches as Duck pulls curious item after curious item from within the flimsy plastic carrier.

 

Duck looks up at Indrid after he finishes laying it all out, and he’s still smiling. Indrid feels his heart flutter at the sight. Duck doesn’t just show his joy with a smile. Indrid knows this by now. Sure, Duck can smile, and he does, but there is so much more for Indrid to notice. The way Duck holds his body looser, the way his eyes light up, the way Duck doesn’t look as if he’s afraid the world might come crashing in on him at any given moment.

 

Duck waves a hand, beckoning Indrid over to the table. “I’m gonna teach you how to take care of a plant,” he says, gesturing to the small, soft green plant. “‘S called a succulent. They don’t need lots o’ water, and they  _ love _ the heat.”

 

Indrid feels something inside him light up. He had attempted household plants before. But something had always gone wrong. He’d forget to water it, or he’d accidentally damage it, or the heat of his Winnebago would cause the poor thing to wilt.

 

“They can get through some  _ tough  _ conditions,” he says, giving Indrid a side glance that Indrid can’t quite decipher.

 

Duck tells Indrid to keep it under a light. Tells Indrid when and how to water it. Tells Indrid the signs of overwatering, or underwatering. Indrid touches the plant gently. Its leaves are sturdy but soft. Durable, but not closed up or prickly. Bad moments don’t touch this plant, not for long. It is fit for the desert. For drought. It is strong.

 

“‘S like you,” Duck says softly, as if reading Indrid’s mind. “It goes through shit, but it pulls through.”

 

Indrid feels an emotion welling up in his chest. He can’t name it.

 

Then Duck looks sheepish, and shrugs as he looks away. “Just thought it might liven up the place a lil.”

 

Indrid smiles. “Thank you, Duck. You’re very thoughtful.”

 

Duck’s body stops tensing. He breathes out. Indrid sees the happiness even if Duck isn’t smiling. “I’m glad ya think so.”

 

“I promise to do all I can to keep this plant healthy.”

 

Duck looks at Indrid. Studies his face. Tries to see behind those reflective glasses. For a moment he wonders what Indrid’s eyes look like. He imagines they are as soft and the rest of Indrid’s face. Maybe they’re large and round. Maybe they’re smaller. Duck has no idea. He hopes they look happy.

 

“I’d love it if ya could try to keep yourself healthy, too,” he says finally.

 

Indrid fidgets with his hands. Crosses them and puts them under his armpits.  _ Maybe Duck has a point _ , he thinks. There are too many futures to know what he’ll do.

 

He sees futures where the plant dies, he neglects it, and Duck never comes back. There are futures where he tries his best, but it still withers. Duck reacts differently in every version of that future. There is one future, louder, that makes his temples throb a bit. It is more likely. The plant suffers a bit. He changes his routine. It thrives. Duck is happy.  _ He _ is happy. He wants to be happy.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Indrid says, truthfully.

 

“That’s all I’m askin’ for,” Duck says with a smile.

 

The two talk a bit. Indrid asks how the others are doing. Holds his tongue from asking about Barclay or Mama. They say their goodbyes, and Duck promises to visit again.

 

Duck stops before he opens the door, and the air turns thick. Warm. Duck turns to look at Indrid.

 

“You know,” he says, one hand on the door, the other in his pocket. “The lodge residents are goin’ out this weekend. There’s a roller skatin’ place in town.”

 

“I’d love to,” Indrid says before Duck can ask. Before he has time to think about his answer.

 

Duck smiles, his eyes bright. “Great. We’re goin’ Saturday, noon. Wonder Skatin’ Rink.”

 

“I can’t wait,” Indrid says, his stomach already twisting itself into knots.

 

“Seeya there!” Duck says, his whole body language smiling. Indrid feels the knots fade away.

 

The door closes. Indrid turns back to the little plant on his table.

 

“I am going to take care of you,” he says to it softly. “I am going to take care of us.”

 

* * *

 

Duck isn’t one to skate. Really. He’s only here because Aubrey forced him. And because Minerva had said it would be “A Wonderful Activity To Help Train Your Body To Its Fullest Potential!”.

 

So here Duck is, sitting on a bench in one part of the building, trying to put skates onto his feet.  _ This is going to be a disaster _ , he thinks.  _ I’m too heavy for this. Too old. _ He looks up as Aubrey skates over with ease.

 

“This is  _ much _ more my scene than skiing,” she says.

 

“I’m too old for this,” Duck grumbles.

 

She laughs. “Nah you’re not. Ned’s out there, and he’s like. Older than you.”

 

“Sure,” Duck says with a heavy sigh. “Alright.”

 

“Or you could just sit on the sidelines like Mama.”

 

“Nah,” Duck says. “I paid to rent these skates, I might as well use ‘em.”

 

Aubrey stands there for a moment, then tilts her head. “Well, are you coming or what?”

 

Duck blinks. “I’m waitin’ for someone.”

 

Aubrey wrinkles her brow for a moment, studying him. Then a look of realization washes over her face, and she grins. “Did you invite Mothman to come too?”

 

“His name’s Indrid, Aubrey.”

 

“Pssh, I know that,” Aubrey says with a quick wave of her hand. “But you did, didn’t you?”

 

“And so what if I did?”

 

Aubrey smiles wide. “I’m not an idiot, Duck. You’re getting  _ awfully close _ to him.”

 

Duck’s face scrunches up in sudden confusion. “What?”

 

A smirk crosses Aubrey’s face, and her amber eyes dance. She leans down closer to Duck, putting her hands on her hips. She studies his face. He is still very, very much confused.

 

Then she straightens her back in an instant. Crosses her arms. “Well if  _ you _ don’t know yet, then I probably shouldn’t ruin the surprise.”

 

“What surprise?” Duck asks.

 

Aubrey just smiles and turns around, skating off to hold Dani’s expectant hand.

 

“What surprise?” Duck calls to her, cupping his hands over his mouth. But the music drowns out his voice as she and Dani skate back into the rink itself. Duck sighs and turns his attention to the door, waiting.

 

_ Where is he?  _ Duck thinks, a bit worried.  _ Maybe he changed his mind. _ He rests an elbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, and sighs.

 

Then the door above the front door rings, and in walks Indrid, absolutely bundled up. He takes a look around, adjusting quickly to the atmosphere of the loud music and dark lights. Then he catches a glimpse of Duck, and a smile washes over his face. He strides over, looking determined but a tad nervous.

 

“So this is a skating rink?” He says as he reaches Duck.

 

“Yeah,” Duck says with a smile. “There’s skate rentals over there,” he says, jabbing a thumb towards the counter behind him. Then he fishes out his wallet and hands $20 to Indrid. Indrid stares blankly at the green paper.

 

“Just hand this to the guy and tell ‘im your shoe size.”

 

“Oh!” Indrid says quickly. “Of course, of course.”

 

After Indrid gets his own skates on, Duck decides it’s time to struggle to his feet. He stands up slowly, wobbling a little, swearing under his breath. He finally manages to balance himself and sighs with relief. Then Indrid stands, and he makes it look easy.

 

Duck quickly starts getting the hang of moving around. It’s not too hard. He used to do this when he was a kid, and it’s all coming back to him. Indrid, on the other hand, is perfectly fine standing still, but struggles when it comes to moving. It is confusing and difficult, and he grabs Duck’s arm to keep himself from falling over.

 

Duck and Indrid make their way into the rink with the others and move slowly in a circle, not bothering to do anything dangerous or fancy. They're both just trying to stay on their feet. Duck watches Jake zoom past, his body so close to the ground that Duck can imagine himself falling over. He looks at Indrid, and shakes his head with a smile.

 

“Not me, my dude. I think that’d kill me.”

 

Indrid looks at Duck and he laughs. Hard. He has to throw an arm out to the wall in order to stop himself from falling over. They both laugh, Indrid still holding on to Duck’s arm.

 

Indrid sees Jake make another lap. Indrid sees the familiar figure of Moira as she skates by gracefully, and his heart pangs at the sight of a friend from long ago. Indrid doesn’t see Aubrey nudge Dani and point at him and Duck, and he doesn’t see Dani’s eyes light up as she smiles knowingly at Aubrey.

 

But Indrid does see an all too familiar figure skate up in front of them. With his all too familiar beard and his all too familiar flannel shirt. And Indrid hears his all too familiar voice crack a bit as he speaks.

 

“Indrid?”


	8. Chapter 8

In an instant, everything that was fine is suddenly very not fine at all. Indrid is suddenly hyper-aware of every single thing around him. The lights are much too dark and the music is much too loud and the air is much too cold. It is all much too much. And he is suddenly aware that he has been holding onto Duck’s arm and he rips his fingers away as though he’s been burned. 

 

He is out of the rink before he sees  **Barclay reaches his hand out** . 

 

His skates are off and handed to the man behind the counter before  **Barclay stumbles forward** .

 

He is out the door before  **Barclay gives up** .

 

Then he is shivering in the parking lot. Then he is shivering on the sidewalk back to his home. Then he is shivering in his Winnebago as he fumbles to turn the space heaters back on.

 

For a moment as the creeping cold spiderwebs up his veins and makes his fingers and nose feel like blocks of ice, he considers how much warmer he would be with his wings pulled tightly around himself. But then he sees a vision of Duck’s pickup truck pulling up in front of the Winnebago and instead he simply sits in front of a space heater in silence. After a few minutes he sees beams from the car’s headlights shoot through his windows and cast its rays against his wall and furniture, and it isn’t until then that he realizes he left the lights off.

 

There is a knock at the door. Gentle. There is Duck outside. Gentle.

 

He is alone. A relief for Indrid. He isn’t ready to face Barclay yet. He needs more time. More time to gather himself. To pull him pieces back together. To sort out his thoughts through the past and present and damming future. 

 

“Indrid?” Duck’s voice calls softly from outside the door. “I… came to see if you were okay.”

 

Indrid feels the blood rush to his head.  _ Of course he did. _ Gentle and caring through it all, Duck. Lay down his life for his friends, Duck. Give a damn about Indrid even knowing about the Silver Bridge, Duck.

 

Indrid’s legs are too weak to stand. “The door is unlocked,” He says instead of hoisting himself to his numb feet.

 

There is a short burst of cold air, and then the door closes again, and then there is Duck. Indrid can’t face him.  _ What does he think of me now?  _ Indrid’s mind races with horrified feelings. Everything is much less now. The warmth is welcome and the silence is nice and the darkness feels nice on his tired eyes, but his thoughts are scared and they are loud.

 

“...Hey,” Duck says, kneeling down next to him. He puts a hand on Indrid’s shoulder and Indrid feels a shiver ripple through his skin. “I know we haven’t known each other too long but…  **I’m here** .” 

 

Duck doesn’t mention Barclay. He won’t, Indrid knows. There are five futures where Duck tells Indrid that he won’t force him to tell him anything. Three where Duck simply offers his support.

 

“You can trust me,” Duck says, sitting down and keeping his hand on Indrid’s shoulder.

 

The feeling that hits Indrid next is strong and solid. He does trust Duck. More than he trusts most people he encounters. More than he trusted Janelle, who was the only one in the court who wouldn’t constantly badger him about what he sees to come. More than he trusted Barclay, when it was just the two of them, trying to evade the prying eyes of nosey humans and hiding away after the tragedy of the Silver Bridge. 

 

He wants Duck to  _ know _ this. It’s overwhelming how much he wants to reach out. How much he wants Duck to know that even though their time knowing each other has been short, Indrid feels like he’s knows the park ranger forever. Indrid wants to tell Duck about the futures he sees. About how his visions so often center themselves around him.

 

There is only one thing he knows would do this in the instant he wishes for. It would be much simpler, he knows, to let fate carry itself out and to ride the winds of chance. To wait however long it takes for Duck to know that he holds Indrid’s complete faith. But Indrid has always been an impatient man, and he’s always been a fan of saying “fuck you” to fate.

 

The glasses are off before Duck can even blink. Wings unfold and claws extend and antennae sprout. Indrid sees Duck react in startled surprise in his peripheral vision, but he remains silent, his head bowed and his posture hunched.

 

“I’m sorry,” Indrid finally whispers. “This is all very sudden.”

 

Duck is quiet for a moment. “You don’t gotta be sorry for that.”

 

Indrid turns his head to look at Duck, his large, red eyes glistening. “Aren’t you afraid?”

 

Duck blinks for a moment, his eyes wide.  _ Not in fear _ , Indrid deduces.  _ Amazement _ .  _ Wonder _ . Indrid feels the hairs on the backs of his arms and neck bristle, blood rushing to his cheeks.

 

“Why would I be  **afraid** ?” Duck says, his voice soft, as if the air had been taken out of his lungs.

 

“I’m a  _ monster _ ,” Indrid says, hearing his pulse thumping in his ears.

 

Duck tilts his head a bit, a gentle smile curving onto his lips. “I think you look real neat.” Then Duck looks away quickly, and shrugs. “I dunno. Think ya look  **softer** .”

 

Hearing the word “softer” come out of his own mouth makes Indrid think. What if Duck is right? What if he really isn’t a monster?

 

It’s so hard to believe.

 

* * *

 

Duck is grateful that Indrid isn’t a mind reader. Grateful that seeing the future doesn’t mean knowing that when Duck says “real neat” he really means “like the most unnatural yet beautiful thing he’s ever laid his tired eyes on”.

 

Because hell, Duck doesn’t even really understand why that’s what he thinks when he looks at Indrid. His teeth are sharper and his eyes are wide and red and his whole body is covered in a layer of black fuzz. It fits him much better than the gaunt man with loud sunglasses and tank tops.

 

He looks like someone with a name like Indrid Cold should look.

 

“I trust you,” Indrid says, soft but firm. He looks Duck in the eyes, and Duck can’t help but notice how much his eyes look like rubies.

 

“You don’t gotta make yourself uncomfortable just to tell me that,” He says with a small smile.

 

Indrid sighs, bowing his head. He shrugs.

 

“I wanted you to  _ know _ .”

 

Duck’s next move is second nature to him, but unforeseen by Indrid based on his startled reaction. He takes Indrid’s hand in his own. He doesn’t think much of it. When he was little, his mama would hold his hand when he cried. His sister would hold his hand as Duck sobbed about their mother’s refusal to use his name. Jane would squeeze his hand, and she’d call it a “hand hug”.

 

_ “Like a hug,”  _ she’d said.  _ “But smaller. Easier.” _

 

Duck squeezes Indrid’s hand gently. 

 

“I believe you,” he says.

 

Indrid’s hand is soft. Not just because of the soft fuzzy hairs covering it like the skin of a peach, but just the way it sits in Duck’s hand. Long, slender fingers, wrapping quickly and tightly around Duck’s hand. Indrid brings his other hand to grab Duck’s, clasping his own hands together and his shoulders scrunch up. Duck puts his other hand forward so that both of his hands wrap warmly around Indrid’s.

 

“It’s all so much,” Indrid whispers. “I’ve closed off my emotions for so long, opening up  _ hurts _ .”

 

Duck rubs his thumb over Indrid’s no-longer-quite-as-bony knuckles. 

 

“The  **Silver Bridge was never your fault** ,” Duck says quietly, knowing that must be what Indrid is thinking of. “You  **did everythin’ to try and stop it** .”

 

“I could have tried  _ harder _ ,” Indrid says, shaking.

 

“ **They wouldn’t‘ve listened** .”

 

Duck sees the tension in Indrid’s shoulders relax when their words overlap, as if the ability to predict a conversation helps him feel a bit more stable. 

 

“I should have returned to Sylvain as expected of me.”

 

Then there’s silence. Duck doesn’t know the full situation. He doesn’t know what to say. So he says nothing, and instead he pulls Indrid in for a hug.

 

Hugs are wonderful, Duck has already decided this. He’d been without hugs for so long, and the physical contact is welcome. He can tell it’s the same for Indrid too, because he sinks into the hug. When Indrid stops shivering, Duck breaks the embrace and leans over to pick up Indrid’s glasses. He hands them to Indrid, who takes them and places them snuggly back on his head, and Duck watches his features shift back into the familiar human disguise. 

 

“I… apologize for my outburst,” Indrid says with a sigh.

 

“Never be sorry for feelin’ things.”

 

Indrid sighs once more, and nods, and stands up to pour himself a glass of eggnog. Then he sits down on the couch, and Duck gets up to sit beside him, and it is another hour of aimless conversation before Duck finally decides to go home for the day.

 

“If… if you see Barclay,” Indrid says as Duck opens the door. “Tell him I said I’m sorry?”

 

Duck thinks. Then he nods with a soft smile. “See ya soon, Indrid.”

 

And the door closes behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

Duck taps his fingers along Beacon’s hilt as he waits in the alley behind his apartment building. He glances at his wristwatch.

 

6:12.

 

Beacon’s mouth curls into a frown.

 

“Duck Newton,” Beacon drawls. “You know, I would not hate you so much if you actually used me.”

 

Duck rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

Duck flicks his wrist, using the tip of Beacon’s blade to send a small rock skittering over the pavement.

 

“Horrendous form,” Beacon sneers.

 

6:13.

 

Duck rolls his eyes again.

 

“Don’t care,” Duck says, his mind whirling over the events of the day.

 

Inevitably, he will have to ask Barclay about this. Inevitably, he knows he will be dragging Indrid to the lodge because there is clearly a problem and Duck is not going to fix whatever happened  _ for  _ them. There is clear, unspoken tension there. What kind, Duck isn’t sure. Part of him hopes it’s not romantic. 

 

Of course, he doesn’t understand why he feels that way. Barclay and Indrid are his friends. He should support his friends through any choices they make. He doesn’t understand why that thought makes his stomach twist in a way he’s unfamiliar with. However, he  _ does _ understand that inevitably he will have to admit that when he’s around Indrid, he-

 

6:14.

 

His watch buzzes.

 

“Duck Newton!”

 

“Hey Minnie,” Duck says with a smile, her presence distracting him from the strange thoughts on his mind.

 

“Are You Ready For Our Training Today, Duck Newton?” she says, her figure standing straight, tall, and radiating positivity.

 

Duck grins. “Hell yeah,” he says as he widens his stance, and, remembering Leo’s advice once again, tucks his elbows in a bit.

 

Training distracts Duck. It’s nice. It’s exhilarating in a way, and even though he’s definitely not the best, he’s still improving. So maybe he’s not skinny, and maybe he’s not in the best shape, but he’s trying, and Minerva is so proud. He feels proud of himself.

 

6:17.

 

Minerva is gone for the day.

 

Duck rolls up Beacon and heads back inside. He shoves Beacon back in the mug cabinet and collapses on the couch. He lets out a sigh, and his thoughts from earlier return, and he flips on Wheel of Fortune to distract himself. He guesses the puzzle before the contestants do, and he chuckles.

 

He imagines watching this with Indrid.  _ Indrid would probably guess them all the moment the spaces come up _ , he thinks with a smile.  _ Wouldn’t say ‘em though. He’d give me a chance to answer first. _

 

Duck glances at the phone on the small end table by the couch. Part of him wants to call Indrid, but he doesn’t know his number. He returns his attention to Wheel of Fortune.

 

6:27.

 

The phone rings.

 

After the second ring, Duck finally realizes the phone is going off. Duck scrambles to pick it up, pressing it quickly to his ear.

 

“Go for Duck,” he says, one of his go-to answers.

 

“Hello, Duck!” the chipper voice on the other side answers. Indrid.

 

Duck feels a unintentional smile spread across his face. “Hey, Indrid,” he says. “Whatcha callin’ about?”

 

“I was bored,” Indrid says plainly.

 

Duck laughs. “We were just talkin’ about an hour ago, Indrid.”

 

“Yes, well, I never really noticed how quiet the Winnebago can get.”

 

“I get that,” Duck says, petting the top of his cat’s head. “I was just watchin’ Wheel of Fortune.”

 

“Some good old Wheel,” Indrid says, but Duck can hear the confusion hidden behind his voice as he attempts to relate. 

 

“I think you’d like it,” he says. “You gotta guess words ‘n’ phrases ‘n’ stuff.”

 

“Hmm,” he hears Indrid hum over the phone. “Perhaps. Sounds like a fun challenge for the old visions.” He hears a soft _thud_ _thud thud_ as Indrid’s finger taps against his head. 

 

“You should come over some time to watch it with me.”

 

6:29.

 

The words are out of Duck’s mouth before he can think.

 

“I’d… love to,” he hears Indrid say on the other end, almost hesitant.

 

“Tomorrow?” Duck says, biting his tongue.  _ Why do words he ain’t thinkin’ about keep comin’ outta his mouth? _

 

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

Duck tells him the time and place. Things are a bit quiet.

 

6:31.

 

Indrid hangs up.

 

“Why did I  _ do _ that?!” Duck says out loud, frustration and embarrassment filling his emotions.

 

“Duck Newton, have you made a horrible decision that will bring your end?” Beacon drawls from the cabinet. “Because that would  _ certainly  _ sa...sad…….  _ Sadden _ me. Greatly.”

 

“Shut  _ up, _ Beacon.”

 

* * *

 

The next day comes faster than Duck had thought possible. The evening comes faster. His nerves are running wild and he hasn’t dared to step inside the lodge and even though Aubrey has blown up his phone with relentless, questioning texts, Duck has stayed silent.

 

There is a knock at the door at 5:55.

 

Duck sucks in a breath and then opens the door, his nerves somehow becoming worse and better at the same time upon seeing Indrid. Indrid is wrapped in his many winter layers, but he smiles when he sees Duck.

 

“Yer awful punctual,” Duck says with a light chuckle as he gestures to the couch.

 

Indrid removes all but a jacket and his scarf. “I like it that way.”

 

Duck smiles and walks over to his “fireplace”, and he flips a switch on the mantel. A fake flame lights up, and Indrid’s eyebrows rise.

 

“A fire? In an apartment?”

 

Duck laughs and waves him off. “Nah, nah. The fire’s all fake. ‘S just a glorified space heater.”

 

“Oh!” Indrid says, removing his scarf and welcoming the warmth of the heater. “Wonderful. Wonders of technology.”

 

Duck’s cat saunters over and hops up onto the couch, and Indrid gasps.

 

”A cat! A naked cat! Flesh being!”

 

Duck turns around and grins. “Yeah. That’s Muffin, he’s a rescue, and a real sweetie.”

 

The cat, despite Indrid’s hand movements of pushing it away, curls up on Indrid’s lap.

 

“Bastard man,” Indrid says indignantly. “Stinky bastard man.”

 

Duck sits down on the couch with a hearty laugh, and he pats Muffin on the head, and the two have fun and smile and laugh as they race to figure out the answers as the program progresses. Indrid politely allows Duck the opportunity to guess first. It feels natural.

 

When Minerva shows up at 6:14, she doesn’t say a word. She appears to the side of the couch, and she sees the two sitting there, and she smiles knowingly, and she leaves.

 

At the end of the show, Indrid correctly guesses the end puzzle where the contestant fails. He grins proudly at Duck, and does a sort of half-bow. Duck laughs and turns the tv off, and the two just sit in silence. It’s nice, and it’s quiet, and it’s just the two of them (and Muffin, of course).

 

* * *

 

_ This is where it is _ . Indrid thinks.  _ My other vision. It wasn’t the lodge. It was here. _

 

His palms begin to sweat. He and Duck are simply sitting there, enjoying the warmth of the false fire. Muffin hops off of Indrid’s lap and goes to lay down elsewhere.

 

Indrid is not a mind reader. Not even close. But he can see possible futures. And he is not a very patient man. And so when 9/10 futures show him a desirable outcome, he tends to be far too quick to rush said outcome.

 

It all happens very fast. Very little thought. Very little hesitation.

* * *

 

 

Duck’s eyes widen in surprise when Indrid presses his lips to Duck’s. It is quick, and sloppy, and Indrid almost entirely misses Duck’s mouth, but it is still a kiss.

 

Duck feels his cheeks flush, and he suddenly realizes why his stomach was in knots the previous day.

 

Indrid inhales sharply. “You were going to kiss me,” he says plainly. “I got impatient.”

 

Duck simply stares. Was he?  _ Yeah _ , he thinks.  _ Yeah, I was. _

 

Indrid blushes, as though suddenly aware of his action. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I should have asked, I thought-“

 

Indrid is interrupted when Duck places both hands on his cheeks and pulls his face close for another kiss. Indrid’s hands tangle their way into Duck’s hair.

 

It is longer, and soft, and it feels  _ right, _ in a way. It is the perfect way, Duck thinks, to spend a Sunday evening.


	10. Chapter 10

The kiss is wonderful until it isn’t. Until the feeling comes back to Indrid’s fingers and he realizes they’re still laced firmly in Duck’s hair. The feeling returns in his back and he feels Duck’s arms wrapped warmly around him in the most gentle embrace Indrid could ever wish for. The feeling returns to his mind when he remembers  _ I am not ready for this. _

 

He rips his face away from Duck’s with a ferocity he doesn’t mean and feels Duck’s arms retreat and part of his heart aches as he watches many possible futures fade out, just like that. He’d been distracted from the constant stream of futures for that brief eternity, and he clutches his head as the pain slams against his temples as they all come rushing back to him.

 

“Indrid?” Duck soft voice cuts through the tension.

 

“Mm.” Indrid groans, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to calm his breathing. Things have changed. Many,  _ many  _ things. He sees so many new futures and sees so many disappear it’s almost blinding. He presses his back to the couch armrest, pulling his knees up to his chest and trying to breathe through the stabbing pain.

 

Were Indrid a mind reader, he’d have seen Duck’s slow realization of the source of Indrid’s pain. Were Indrid a mind reader, he would have seen the careful way Duck gave Indrid plenty of space out of knowledge of his own feelings after a heavy vision. Were Indrid a mind reader, he would have seen Duck’s slightly shocked revelation. The way Indrid ran at the first sight of Barclay. The way Indrid had definitely kissed before.

 

Duck gets up, and Indrid barely notices the change of weight distribution on the couch. When Duck returns, he wraps a thick blanket around Indrid’s shoulders, and it helps. It is  _ incredibly _ plush, and warm, and it smells distinctly like Duck. Indrid feels Duck rub his shoulder with a comforting hand before sitting back down and giving Indrid his space once again. There is a sort of comfort to that silence that makes Indrid feel safe.

 

Indrid isn’t  _ new  _ to this kind of onslaught of visions. In school on Sylvain, while they trained him to be the next Court Seer, the teachers required him to wear a blindfold. To focus on making the possibilities of the future clearer in his mind. As soon as he got back to his dorm after classes, he would rip that wretched piece of cloth off his face and toss it across the room. And every time he put it on the next day, they’d get louder again. Pound against his skull. He hardly paid attention in class, but who could blame him? His head felt like it was full of glass shards trying to fight their way out.

 

When the pain subsides at last, Indrid returns to his senses, returns to his usual organization of where he puts those premonitions in his head. He foresees Duck handing him a tissue box, and he realizes he’s crying.

 

“I’m sorry I’m always crying in front of you,” Indrid says, his voice shaking as much as his hand as he reaches for a tissue.

 

Duck sets the box down and reaches his hand forward, resting it softly on Indrid’s other hand and squeezing lightly, as if this is their little  _ thing _ now. A silent message of comfort. Duck runs his thumb gently over Indrid’s knuckles. “Don’t be sorry.”

 

“I’m not ready for this, Duck,” Indrid whispers. The words feel like molasses in his throat. Indrid lets a nervous laugh fall out of his chest. “I see so many things in the future. I get carried away.”

 

Duck nods. “I get that.”

 

“ _ We  _ aren’t ready for this, Duck.”

 

Indrid feels Duck’s hand squeeze a little tighter, as if anchoring them both to this spot.

 

“Ya think so?” Duck asks, his voice a murmur.

 

“We’ve barely known each other a  _ month _ ,” Indrid says, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

 

A chuckle tumbles out of Duck’s mouth, but it sounds dull. Indrid gives Duck’s hand a squeeze.

 

“I just think we need more time to figure out exactly what we mean to each other before we go leaping into this,” He says, his voice low.

 

Duck nods.

 

Indrid sighs heavily as he drags his body to stand, the blanket falls off his thin shoulders and onto the couch. Indrid holds Duck’s hand in one hand and pats the back of it with the other.

 

“There are too many factors that I see right now, Duck. Too many lives at stake.” He releases Duck’s hand.

 

Duck lets it fall to his knee and blinks. “What about mine?”

 

Indrid meets Duck’s eyes through his red tinted glasses. “Always yours.”

 

Duck rubs the back of his head. “What if I wasn’t in danger all the time?”

 

Indrid thinks. What if? ‘What if’s are not like futures. ‘What if’s require something about the world to be different. So  _ what if? _ Indrid scratches his arm through his sleeve.

 

They are quiet for a while. Indrid perches on the arm rest, wanting to sit but not wanting to let himself slip back into that reckless bliss. After some time of thought, Indrid heaves out a sigh.

 

“I have things I need to fix. Things I need to apologize for,” he says and flashes a warm smile at Duck. “And you, well… you’ve got a destiny to prepare for. Whatever that may be.”

 

Indrid sees a thousand futures. A thousand of Duck’s potential future. A thousand of his own potential futures. A thousand where they are both featured, and he makes the conscious decision to push those away in the near future. One flashes at him briefly, and he does his best to ignore it.

 

“Yer pro’lly right,” Duck says as he stands. Indrid lets gravity carry him to his feet as he leans forward on the arm rest and then straightens his posture a bit. “How many futures have us, Indrid?”

 

An unexpected question. Always the surprise, Duck Newton. Indrid feels the warmth return to his cheeks. “Any amount I say will change it, I fear.”

 

He turns to walk into the kitchen, toward the front door, and Duck follows. Indrid reaches for his coat and watches the futures fluctuate rapidly.

 

As Indrid zips up his coat and slings his scarf around his neck, Duck puts a soft hand on Indrid’s shoulder. “Is it a lot?”

 

Indrid needs to leave. He knows this. He needs to go home to his Winnebago so he can unplug his phone and lay in bed wishing he could wither away for days. He’s scared. Terrified. He ran away for a reason. No one he cared about or loved could die on his watch if he had no one to care about. But here Aubrey and Ned and Billy were. Here  _ Duck  _ was. Ruining his perfectly calculated plans.

 

What scares him the most is that he’s not entirely sure he’s upset that his plans were thrown off.

 

Indrid inhales deeply. “Quite a few,” he says, his voice hushed.

 

“Then we’ll give it time. No need to rush something like that.”

 

Indrid turns to look at Duck. He can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face and he hides it behind his scarf. “Thank you for having me over, Duck.”

 

“Any time.”

 

There is a moment where a few particularly bright futures jump out and tell Indrid to lower his scarf. That moment is  _ brief _ .

 

“Duck Newton, my patience for this grotesque display grows  _ ever thinner _ ,” a voice hisses.

 

Indrid blinks and whips his head around, looking for the source.

 

“Christ, Beacon, could you just shut up?”

 

“Absolutely  _ not _ .”

 

“Duck,” Indrid says, his voice half an octave higher than usual. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what the  _ fuuuck _ ? Is that voice?”

 

Duck groans and rubs a hand down his face, pushing the skin down as he does so. “That’s Beacon. My talkin’... fuckin’... destiny sword, or somethin’. “ 

 

Indrid laughs. “A talking, fucking sword?”

 

Duck blinks. Then his eyes widen and his face pales. “NOT. LIKE. THAT.”

 

Indrid finds himself laughing. And then Duck starts laughing. Soon Indrid is doubled over and his chest is aching and his throat is sore and the two of them are laughing so hard it feels like they have always been laughing together.

 

Beacon’s voice cuts through the dying laughter. “I am  _ Beacon _ , you disrespectful  _ welp _ , the most  _ beautiful, terrible weapon _ ever crafted, and I demand  _ respect. _ ”

 

Indrid has to pinch himself to stop from laughing even more. “Can’t… breathe…” he chokes between strained wheezes.

 

“You have  _ terrible  _ taste in men, Duck Newton,” Beacon spits from within the kitchen cabinet.

 

Indrid opens the front door through choked giggles, and Duck takes deep breaths as he walks to the door, both of their faces lit up by smiles.

 

“Seeya, Indrid,” Duck says, his voice warm.

 

“Another time, Duck.”

 

* * *

 

The door closes with a  _ click _ . Just as Duck is about to collapse back onto the couch, there is a knock on the door. His brow furrows as he stares at the door in confusion and annoyance. The knocker raps again, and Duck sighs and gets up.

 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he calls to the door.

 

He swings it open and standing there with a mischievous grin is none other than Aubrey Little.

 

“Hey, Duck!” She exclaims. “Mind if I come in?”

 

Duck rolls his eyes. “Coulda called first.”

 

She sticks out her tongue at him and puts her hands on her hips. “Didn’t wanna.”

 

Duck sighs and steps aside with a grin. “Whatever you gremlin, what d’ya want?”

 

Aubrey practically bounces into the room, and when Duck closes the door she whips around with a smirk.  _ What could she be here for? _

 

“Do you have an explanation for why I bumped into  _ Indrid  _ on the way over here?”

 

_ Ah, shit. _


End file.
